


A Territorial Dispute

by china_shop



Category: White Collar
Genre: F/M, Fic, Misunderstood mating rituals, Multi, Picnics, Pre-Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-04
Updated: 2010-08-04
Packaged: 2017-10-10 22:41:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/105182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/china_shop/pseuds/china_shop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Stop kidding around and give me my wallet, before I send you back to prison."</p><p>Misunderstood mating rituals. Very pre-Elizabeth/Neal/Peter</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Territorial Dispute

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Sage for beta. &lt;3

The deli was stinking hot and unbearably crowded, and by the time El, Peter and Neal bought their food and shoved their way outside, El felt like she'd earned every damned bite of her lunch and then some. She was just glad she'd taken the time to put her hair up that morning. Even Neal looked a little frayed around the edges, his hat slightly askew, and Peter was sweating and shaking his head and muttering about brown-bagging it from now on.

El grinned. Fat chance. Peter rarely even took the time for a sit-down breakfast on weekdays. The idea of him trying to construct sandwiches when he was impatient to get to work was—well, she'd learned not to underestimate her husband, but she'd have to see it to believe it.

They walked a few more blocks to Hudson River Park and managed to find a space on the parched grass. Neal produced a thin picnic blanket that El would've sworn he hadn't been carrying before, spread it out and said, "After you," with a grand wave of his hand, and "Thanks for inviting me, Elizabeth."

She sat down and smiled up at his silhouette. "I keep hearing these extremely unlikely stories about your escapades at work. I was hoping you could reassure me that Peter's been embellishing."

"I haven't," said Peter distractedly. He was kneeling on the corner of the blanket, checking his pockets. "Neal?" There was a world of weariness in his voice.

"What?" Neal sat down across from El. His eyes softened when he looked at Peter. El thought she probably wasn't supposed to notice that.

She patted Peter's knee soothingly. "What is it, honey?"

"Neal knows," said Peter, holding out his hand, palm up.

"I really don't."

"My wallet." Peter gave up holding out his hand and opened a can of coke instead. "Where is it, Neal?"

"I don't have it." Neal tilted his head. "You didn't leave it at the office."

"No, I bought lunch for my wife ten minutes ago," said Peter patiently. "I had it then and I don't have it now, which means you're suspect number one."

"I'd—" Neal stopped, mouth open, and a frown formed on his face. "Are you sure you didn't leave it at the deli counter when you paid?"

"I'm sure." Peter took a drink of his coke. "Stop kidding around and give me my wallet, before I send you back to prison."

It was as if Neal barely heard the threat. His mouth had flattened into a thin line, and there was a martial light in his eyes, banishing any softness. "How _dare_ she?" he said under his breath, so fiercely that El blinked. He stood up. "Give me twenty minutes. I'll be back." And then he was gone.

Peter looked after him, astonished. "What's got him so steamed?"

El hid a smile. Peter might be brilliant, but he could be extraordinarily dense upon occasion. "Someone took your wallet," she said.

"I got that part, thanks," Peter told her. "But it's _my_ wallet. Neal steals it all the time."

El's grin escaped, so she took a bite of her sandwich and answered with her mouth full. "Yeah, that's kind of my point—you know, I think we might be looking at a territorial dispute."

"A—" Peter frowned, decoding that. Then he actually blushed. "That's ridiculous! That's _feudalism_."

El shrugged and took another bite of sandwich. "It's Neal." They ate in silence for a few minutes, and El tried to decide if she minded that a ridiculously attractive con man apparently considered her husband _his_. It was hard to begrudge Neal anything—and he was always respectful and pleased to see her. Maybe he thought she belonged to him too, by extension. Eventually she decided there was no point worrying about it, since Neal was clearly an irresistible force, in more ways than one. She stole a mouthful of Peter's coke and said, "Look at it this way, honey: if he gets your wallet back, you won't have to cancel all your cards."

"Yeah," said Peter, almost laughing in relief. Then he sobered and looked at her anxiously. "But—honey, you know I don't—" He trailed off, seeming utterly lost for words.

She smiled and patted his knee. "I know." Not yet, at least. They'd deal with that bridge when and if they came to it. "Come on, tell me what's happening with the Samson case."

Peter launched into a description of an accountant called Marcus Lush, who sounded like the least useful eye witness in the world, and El nodded and asked questions, and enjoyed not thinking about seating arrangements or venue limitations or the two dozen guests who hadn't RSVPed by the deadline for the exclusive society wedding she was organizing.

Ten minutes later, Neal sauntered over to them, his hat back at its customary rakish angle and a satisfied look on his face. He dropped the wallet into Peter's lap, sat down and unwrapped his sandwich. "It won't happen again."

"What, you've put my name on some kind of underworld watchlist? How does that work?" Peter seemed more scandalized than reassured.

Neal sighed. "It's not a watchlist. It's just—"

"You've taken care of it," said El, rescuing him. "And saved Peter a lot of hassle. Thanks, Neal. We appreciate it." She gave Peter a pointed look.

"Thanks," he repeated grudgingly to Neal. "But I swear to God, if I find out that you've circulated my details to your thieves guild in order to prevent a reoccurrence, I won't hesitate to—"

El gave in and sat back, enjoying her sandwich and letting their exchange wash over her, as the sun beat down on them on their little patch of lawn, and when Neal winked at her surreptitiously in the middle of Peter's lecture, she suppressed a giggle, and decided that however things turned out, it was going to be just fine.

 

END


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